Stories for October
by Wilhelmina Willoughby
Summary: A collection of drabbles from Wilhelmina Willoughby and Zayz, written to commemorate Lily and James.
1. Bubbles, Seven, Sunflowers

_Hey, everyone! This is a set of drabbles written by me and Zayz for Jily October. If you're following us on Tumblr (I'm at_ suchastart_ and Zayz is at _girlwiththefeels_), you've seen these already, but we also want to collect them here. They'll be posted every so often in sets of three. If you've got any prompts that you want to see from either of us, head over there and drop some into our ask boxes. Enjoy! :)_

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**L/J: 1, Bubbles (Mina)**

James, lying on the couch in front of the common room fire, rests his head in Lily's lap. She cards her fingers through his hair, over and over, a repetition that soothes him into a hazy, warm half-sleep. It's times like these that he can't believe this is his life now, that he is actually allowed to rest his head against her whenever he wants.

"Lily," he says, nudging her stomach with his nose. "Hey, Lil. Look."

When she pulls her book away and looks down, he licks his lips and blows an impressive spit bubble. It holds for a long few seconds before the disgusted frown on Lily's face causes James to laugh and the bubble to rupture.

"James," she sighs. She shakes her head and returns to her book, her other hand leaving the nest of his hair. He makes a pitiful whine and buries his face in her jumper, keeping it there even when she exhales and returns her free hand to his head. "You are such a child," she tells him, and though he can't see it, he can hear her smile in her voice.

**L/J: 2, Seven (Zayz)**

The last party of the seventh year is in full swing - the drinks spilling, the music blaring, the drunk teenagers swaying and dancing and laughing and screaming, like this night is the last of its kind. Which, truthfully, it sort of is.

Remus has been persuaded to dance by Mary Macdonald, and Peter is by the punch, rehydrating before rejoining his date. Sirius is, as usual, dancing with several girls at once, the entire group in various degrees of intoxication. And James is with Lily, twirling her around and around and around, the both of them dizzy and giggling, high on the punch and the lights and the song and on their lives, their youth, the brightness and euphoria of this moment. She releases a scream of pure mirth, throws her head back, exposing the pale expanse of her neck, her red hair streaming down her back.

"I can't believe this is going to be over soon," she tells him, as he pulls her in close. Their hearts are beating wildly in their chests; their hands are all sweaty and she can feel his breathing, hot and fast, against her ear.

"I know," he says. "Can you imagine? Seventh year, already over. I swear, we were on the train for the first time last week."

She chuckles, but it's more wistful than amused. "It doesn't feel real."

"It was." Though the music is still fast, he slows down to a stop, just holds her there, the weight of her body so fitting and comfortable inside his arms. Even now, months after they started dating, he still can't quite get used to this. How they get to really be in each other's lives now.

"This was our year," he whispers in her ear. "Number seven."

But to his surprise, she gives him a strange look. "What do you mean, _was_ our year? Every year is going to be our year."

She smiles her bright smile, the one that could eclipse the sun if it so desired, and leaps on top of him romantic-comedy style, her sparkly purple dress hitching up against her legs, which wrap around his waist. He stumbles slightly under her, but he holds up straight. And he kisses her like time is irrelevant, and nothing will end, and this moment will carry them through the rest of their lives.

**L/J: 3, Sunflowers (Mina)**

It is fifth year and he is finally—_finally_—the seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Sure, it's mostly because Fredrickssen, the first string, is out on academic probation, but James is still good, and he wants to prove it. They start by throwing coins around the pitch, making him distinguish at various distances between silver and gold. Eventually they start timing him, and he gets better and better.

And then, he starts noticing everything.

The attention to detail he's supposed to apply to Quidditch is used to tell if Remus has extra lines creasing his forehead after a rough night under the moon, or if Peter is frowning too hard at his homework and is too proud to ask for help, or if Sirius lapses into his moods too often.

He also notices Lily. Like, everywhere. He spots her red hair in the hallway like a glint of gold on the pitch, calling his immediate attention. He notices the little flyaways at the nape of her neck when she pulls her hair up into a ponytail. He sees the way she picks the pecans off of her muffins at breakfast, piling them into a neat pile for Dorcas, who puts the extra into her oatmeal. As he's lying on the common room floor, playing cards with Peter, he gets a view of Lily's feet as she walks by, small and bare and white. On one of her toenails she's painted a sunflower, and he watches it, the tiny yellow leaves, as she walks further and further away from him.

Peter cuffs him on the arm. "Oi, James! Your turn, mate."

"Yeah, sure, fine," James says, turning back to the card game. It takes a minute to remember what they are playing. He is fifteen and in love and in everything, and especially in her, he sees gold.


	2. Stubble, Spring Cleaning, Curses

**L/J: 4, Stubble (Zayz)**

The early morning sunlight streams through the window, and immediately blinds them both. James reacts by groaning and rolling over so his back is facing the window, and Lily buries her face in James's shoulder, like a woodland creature seeking solace in the mud.

"It looks like it's going to be another beautiful day." James chances a glance at the offending window, where the city of Brighton reveals itself as his eyes adjust. The sky is a perfect forget-me-not blue, the ocean just visible by the horizon line. He gently shakes her off and yawns, stretches out his arms, puts on his glasses and grins.

"So, what do you want to do today?" James asks her enthusiastically. "Want to get breakfast and take it to the beach? Want to go scuba-diving? Want to explore the city and then have lunch someplace?"

"I don't want to go anywhere."

James's bright smile falters. "But, Lils. It's our honeymoon. We should go do things. Like explore the city."

"We've already done that."

"We only have a couple of days left here." He pulls the blanket off of her and starts pushing her off the bed. "Come on, let's go."

"No!" She pouts like a toddler, knowing exactly how irresistible her large, lovely green eyes can be. "I want us to stay here." She wriggles back to her original spot and throws her arms around him, pinning him to the bed, her hair like a curtain around both of their faces. She kisses him hard and full and woozy, and feels his resolve melt as he relaxes against the pillow.

"Okay," he murmurs. "Party-pooper."

So they lay together like that in bed all morning, listening to the sound of the wind against the glass, the chirruping birds, the soft pitter-patter of their heartbeats. Lily rests her head against James's shoulder, soaking up his heat and his scent and the way he's holding her so close, like she might fly away if he loosens up. His stubble is prickly against her cheek, like rubbing up against a baby hedgehog, but she kind of likes it. It's comforting, in a way, because it means less pressure.

He doesn't have to shave, and she doesn't have to tame her bird's nest of red hair, and they don't have to leave this bed all day if they don't want to - and in the next few weeks of marriage, maybe they'll fight, maybe they'll get mad at each other, maybe they'll drive each other crazy - but they can be happy in all of that. Because they are who they are, for better or worse. And for now - and for always - that's enough.

**L/J: 5, Spring Cleaning (Mina)**

Lily jerks awake in the middle of the night, accidentally kneeing James in the thigh. She gasps and freezes, waiting to see if he's going to move, but his snores continue loud into the night and Lily feels safe enough to roll out of bed and sneak down the stairs. She turns on the lamp in the corner of the living room and sits down on the floor in front of a few boxes they took down from the attic earlier in the day, arranges them in a semi-circle in front of her.

James would say that she's nesting, but that can't be it. She's only a few months pregnant, and that nesting thing doesn't begin this early, she doesn't think. Lily puts her hand on the warm bump that her stomach has become. It's a convenient enough excuse that spring is coming soon; she's just getting some early spring cleaning done, going through some stuff that they should've tossed when they moved in. Right? And anyway, they need room, now. Everything has to be perfect and in its place. The world may not be a welcoming place for a baby, but she will make her home safe and good and wonderful, a place for a family.

So for a long while, she goes through the boxes, makes stacks of things that need to be donated and things they can throw away, things to keep, things that make her laugh and cry and stare into space for too long, lost in what used to be. The small clock on the mantel chimes two o'clock in the morning before James stomps down the stairs in nothing but his pants, scratching at his thin circle of chest hair.

He mumbles something that sounds like, "What are you doing down here?"

"Going through some boxes." She holds up a copy of one of his favorite Quidditch magazines, dated 1967. It's worn and coming apart but James smiles upon seeing it, sits down next to her on the rug and takes it from her hands.

"Dad used to read these with me," he says, turning the pages with careful fingers. "We'd get them from Quality Quidditch Supplies each month and he'd tell me all about the different teams, the old rivalries, which ones were his favorites…"

Lily leans against him, tucks her chin onto his shoulder and places a kiss on his cheek. He smiles, asks, "You going to be awake for much longer?"

"Probably not," she says on a yawn, snuggling closer to him. He leans back to snag a quilt off the couch and pulls it around them, all three of them, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her in closer.

She points to the cover picture, a slow-moving photograph of a man on a broomstick, waving to his fans on the ground. "Tell me more about this bloke."

"Yancey Gothbart?" James exclaims, immediately launching into a detailed explanation of the man's past teams, statistics, greatest hits. Lily listens to the sound of his voice, rests one hand on his back and one on her stomach and thinks, hard, so that she hopes the baby can hear: _Listen closely, little one; we have so much to talk about._

**L/J: 6, Curses (Zayz)**

One rainy April evening, Lily is lying on a common room couch, doing her homework, brow furrowed in concentration. Charms has a way of being tricky at the best of times, and it's nine o'clock at night, and she still has a History of Magic paper to write. She sighs, rubs her face in her hands, grumpily willing this night and this year to be over already. Because as much as she knows she will miss Hogwarts, she will not miss the homework.

James saunters in a little while later, grinning as usual. He flops down on the couch beside Lily, yawning slightly, watching with interest as she scribbles frantically. She briefly smiles a hello, but she's trying to find her stride - and he finds that adorable.

"Hey, you." He kisses her cheek.

"Honestly, James, do you ever do your homework? I don't understand how you never seem to be doing anything besides floating around the common room or playing Quidditch." Charms is making her snappy. He laughs at her irritation.

"Nah, homework is for losers."

"Gee, thanks."

"You know what I mean."

"I suppose." She sighs again and rests her head against his shoulder. "This is all rubbish."

"I know."

"But I have to do it."

"If you say so."

"I swear, James, I have been cursed with a good work ethic and I don't know what to do about it." She shuts the book in frustration and tosses it to the table. She thew it a bit hard, though; it slides off the table to the floor. James snorts.

"That was pitiful! Here, try again."

He races off the couch, leaving her startled as her head's resting place disappears, and fetches the book. "Okay. Throw it again. With feeling, this time."

She grins, eyes glinting. "All right."

She flings the book across the room again. It hits the opposite wall and falls open on the ground, defeated. James whoops, and rushes back to Lily, kisses her sweetly.

"Maybe you've been cursed with a good work ethic, but fortunately, you were blessed with me as a distraction. Come on. Let's go get some cherries from the kitchen and spit the seeds at balloons."

It's late. This is never going to get done anyway. James starts bouncing off to the portrait hole, looking back expectantly at her. Her weak resolve melts entirely. Her sunny smile returning in full force, Lily gets up, abandons the books, and follows.


	3. Cookies, Letters, Charisma

****_A/N: Zay and I just want to thank everybody who's reviewed and favorited and just generally checked out this story! We're so glad you're enjoying these so far :)_

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**L/J: 7, Cookies**** (Mina)**

She doesn't hear the soft crack of Apparition, only a glass pan shattering on the floor and her mother's startled scream. Lily's out of bed and on the stairs, wand in hand, before she remembers to take a breath, and by the time she reaches the kitchen, she's nearly light-headed with adrenaline and worry.

That must explain what she sees.

Kneeling in the middle of her kitchen is James, in jeans and a plain red shirt, hair less messy than usual, helping Mum pick up the larger chunks of glass from the floor. He keeps up a steady stream of apologies over Mum's nervous laughter, and it's so strange that Lily leans against the doorway and stares. How did he even know how to get here? What is he doing here in the first place? It's summer holiday—shouldn't he be in France?

The only thing she can find to say is, "There are easier ways of doing that, you know."

Mum startles, puts her hand to her chest. "You two are going to give me an attack! I assume you know who this house-intruder is, Lily?"

Sometimes, though those times are growing increasingly rare, she wishes she didn't. "This is James Potter," she motions for him to stand, then gives Mum a hand up. "We're kind of dating."

James grins at her, as if surprised and proud of her. He is so tall, standing in her kitchen, especially when both she and Mum have to look up to see his face.

Mum raises an eyebrow, allowing Lily to take the glass from her hand and drop it back to the floor. James drops his careful handful of glass as well, and Lily casts a quick Reparo spell, watching as all the shards pull and knit themselves together again.

"I still don't think I'll ever get used to that." Mum reaches down to pick up the pan, then eyes James. "Kind of dating my daughter, eh?"

James reaches out to put his arm around Lily, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. "Yeah, sometimes going out and snogging, but mostly we row about whether or not we're actually dating."

Lily blushes, her whole head turns pink—snogging, oh Merlin and God, my Mum doesn't need to know that—but Mum just laughs, says, "I suppose you're alright, James. Want to stay for some tea and cookies? You popped in while I was getting it around."

He turns to Lily, gently shaking her shoulder. It means he's asking her permission; she can almost hear him saying, _What say you, Evans?_

She smiles at him, because it's still so strange but a little nice, too, and she wants Mum to know him. Besides, she hasn't seen him in a few weeks, and they have some catching up to do later. "He'd love to."

**L/J: 8, Letters (Zay)**

"Hey, Evans!" His loud, cocky voice is clear and obvious, even amidst the amiable chattering of students in the courtyard.

Lily sighs. James is like a wild puppy who refuses to be house-trained; he is too boisterous, too excitable, too unwilling to understand normal human standards of communication. She stops walking and looks up, finds him waving frantically at her to get her attention. His friends are beside him, smirking to each other - the owners of the incorrigible puppy, who have long ago learned not to challenge his spontaneous whims.

"Yes, Potter?"

"I wish I could rearrange the letters of the alphabet so that I could put U and I together!" he announces, as though it is a royal proclamation of the highest importance.

Lily wrinkles her nose. "What an absolutely terrible pick-up line, Potter. You are going to have to try much harder than that."

"I thought it was brilliant!"

"Did Sirius lend you a book on how to pick up girls again?"

Sirius looks like he's about to say something, but Remus pulls out his wand and shoots him a warning look, shutting him up fast.

"So what if he did?"

In spite of herself, she smiles. "You need to stop taking romance advice from a guy who thinks it's funny to throw write rude words in sparklers in the common room late at night before exams. Just a thought."

His eyes shine with mischief. "Well, it worked, didn't it? You responded. You are smiling. You are attracted to my ridiculousness, my quirky charm. Admit it! I win!"

"Of course not," she says. "The alphabet is fine the way it is, with N and O together."

He wags a finger at her. "Your sass is appreciated, but you'll see it my way in the end."

She raises an eyebrow. "You are an arrogant arsehole, James Potter."

He blows her a kiss. "I love you too, Evans!"

He walks away, guffawing away to himself, talking fast to the Marauders, his hand gestures grand and passionate. Lily shakes her head and can't hold back her enormous smile, her unwilling giggles.

Their teasing is like this now, mutually flirtatious and coy rather than one-sided, with him being freely obnoxious and her being uptight and both of them exploding. She doesn't know when it happened or what it means for the two of them, but it's easy and funny and yeah, it does make her smile, even if it's just because he is so silly and she doesn't know what to do with all his silliness.

He keeps saying that she'll see it his way, that she'll learn how to love him soon enough, and she keeps saying it's not true, but she can feel her resolve melting. She can feel herself being charmed, as his head deflates and he speaks to her with more affection, rather than simple boyish lust.

The two of them are changing, growing out of their old, childish game of cat-and-mouse and into something…different. Comfortable, and hazy, and quirky, and compassionate. Currently undefined, but close to being Something. Not now, not this minute, but soon.

**L/J: 9, Charisma**** (Mina)**

Lily's been preparing for her Transfiguration presentation for two weeks now—doing extra research, writing out notecards, practicing in front of Dorcas and Siobhan. She even wrangles a not-so-reluctant Remus away from a vicious game of Exploding Snap to practice questions with him. For something that's not an exam to be thirty percent of her final grade, she needs to do well. Needs to do _excellent._

So when Wednesday morning arrives and class is in an hour, she feels like she's going to vomit. She can't eat breakfast. She can hardly pay attention to the conversations around her. Eventually Dorcas asks her what's wrong, in a voice too loud to be discreet, and attention shifts to Lily.

"Nervous?" Dorcas asks. She shudders. "Ugh. I am. Public speaking."

"It's not that. I don't mind having an audience." Lily picks apart her muffin, separating out the blueberries and placing them to the side. "I just don't know the material as well, and this is worth so much of our grade. What if I just completely fail?"

From her nest of arms and sweaters and hair, leaning on the table, Siobhan mumbles, "You know the spell. Shut up."

Lily puts a blueberry in her mouth, soft and muffin-warm, and rolls it around her tongue. She'll be fine. She'll be fine.

And she is. Her presentation goes well—she explains her spell, draws it clearly and correctly on the board, gets all her facts straight. In the long, awkward silence that comes after she asks for questions, Remus speaks up, posing her some of the practice questions she gave him, along with some of his own, and she could kiss him for it. She's in a daze after she sits down, relieved and tired and happy, and doesn't thoroughly pay attention to the next few presenters until Potter is called.

He has no notecards, no scraps of parchment. He walks down to the center of the room with his hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, smiling, and Lily already feels that instant anger pressing against her chest. _He doesn't even care._

But his presentation is flawless. Of course it is. He moves around the room and calls on people and engages the class, even demonstrates his spell, which, while dangerously similar in structure to the Animagus transformation sequence, is bound to get him some extra points. He does it all without looking at anything for assistance and Lily wants to hate him for it, but she gets so caught up in the low cadence of his voice that she finds herself learning something.

When he sits down, she charms the parchment lying on his desk to show the handwriting on hers: _Bravo, Potter._

He writes back: _You too, Evans_. Then, slowly, a heart appears next to her name.

Lily torches the note, quickly, and gets a stern talking-to in front of the class, but it was worth it. Even as Potter laughs, loud and deep, and Lily has to look away from laughing, too.


	4. Wounded, Careless, Heartache

**L/J: 10, Wounded (Zay)**

It's about two o'clock in the morning, and Lily is still awake, sitting in the good common room chairs in front of the fire, surrounded by ruined bits of parchment and stray feathers from her quill - and she is freaking out.

She and James have been studying for their NEWTs (which begin tomorrow) and Lily has finally reached that pre-exam moment of pure blind hysteria. She buries her face into James's neck and begins to sob, wracked and loud and full of snot.

"I am going to fail everything. I am never going to get a job. This is going to be horrible," she wails.

"Lils." He hugs her, runs his hand up and down her back, trying to ignore the stray strands of her hair that are currently going up his nose. "Lils. Sweetheart. You aren't going to fail."

"Yes, I am, I don't know anything!" She's really crying hard now; his shoulder is almost completely soaked.

"Lily. Come on now, Lily, pull yourself together." He gently shakes her off his shoulder, wipes her tears away with his thumb. "Here. Look at these notes. Do you know what they say?"

The crying slows. She hiccups slightly as she scans the parchment through streaming tears. He can't help but notice how lovely she is, even though she's crying; color floods her nose and cheeks, the shine from the tears illuminates her already bright eyes, and her hair frames her face with a wild sort of casualness that he finds both adorable and a little bit sexy.

"I know what that says. I understand this spell," she says.

"You see? That's how it is with all of these." He gestures to the rest of the notes lying in piles around them. "You know this. Don't be nervous."

"Why don't _you_ ever get nervous?" she asks.

"Because I know everything."

The silly statement has the desired effect of drawing out her smile, a tiny giggle.

"I hate you."

"I know."

He leans in to kiss her, but she's distracted by another sheet of parchment. She picks it up too fast, certain she has no idea what it says - and she gets a paper-cut right in that soft skin between her thumb and forefinger. Blood lines the little gash, and she swears, drops the parchment.

"James, I got a paper-cut," Lily complains, putting her hand in his face to show him.

She is so funny when she's this tired. Like an anxious toddler, unable to keep her emotions in check. She looks at him with such innocent, genuine confusion that he laughs, lowers her hand.

"Lily, I think the notes are trying to tell you something. I think it's time to get some sleep before the exam."

"It huuuuurts," she whines, sucking on the cut, trying to get rid of the blood and lessen the pain.

He takes her hand out of her mouth, dabs away the blood and her saliva with his shirt, and kisses the cut.

"There. All better."

"_No_." The blood bubbles up in the cut again. "Look, it's still bleeding."

"Lily. Bed. Now."

She yawns largely, rubs her eyes, the fight flowing out of her as she realizes he's right. She does know this stuff, and she'll need sleep in order to demonstrate her abilities effectively.

"Stay with me?" she asks.

He grins. "Do you ever have to ask?"

She kisses his cheek and helps him gather their study materials, head upstairs to bed. She figures, well, maybe her paper-cut still hurts. Maybe she'll fail these exams. (It's always a possibility.) But regardless of these considerable concerns, she knows that at least she has him. So she'll be okay no matter what.

He holds her non-injured hand and crawls into bed with her, his weight warm and comforting beside her, and the two of them drift off to sleep.

**L/J: 11, Careless**** (Mina)**

They have a fight that night. It's Halloween, and James locks the front door tight, shuts the blinds, turns off the porch light. Lily puts on her calm mother face and gets Harry to bed, smooths his little cowlicks down, kisses him on his forehead and his cheeks and his nose. Harry makes happy giggles and Lily stays with him until he finally rests his head, barely able to hold his eyes open.

"Good night, my little lamb," she tells him, reaching down to give him one last kiss.

Downstairs, James is brooding at the kitchen table. He hunches over the_Prophet_ and mumbles to himself, and Lily can't help but think about how old she feels, how old James looks, sitting there. He has dark circles under his eyes and he is always moving with some kind of frantic, frenetic energy, and she doesn't know how to help him.

"You can't shut us in here, James," is what she says first, and she knows that she should've rephrased, softened it, somehow, that she is not helping at all, but she is angry. They are twenty-one years old and she feels forty, trapped and hopeless. They can't keep waiting. They can't do this to Harry, no matter what James thinks is safe.

"We haven't been to the park in a week." She watches him grow still, sees in the tense shift of his shoulders that he is getting upset, too, but she can't stop. "Harry hasn't even been to the grocery since August! You know he loves to touch all the produce. And what about giving candy to the kids, or looking at decorations, or going to the fires? We used to love all that! And now we just sit in here, waiting!"

"We have to," he says, not looking up. He lets the newspaper fall to the table. "I have to keep us safe."

"_You_ don't have to do anything! _We_ are a team. That's kind of what you signed up for when you married me—we are partners. So I get a say in this, too."

He stands, abruptly, knocking the chair to the floor. Lily steps back, though she keeps her ground when he reaches out and takes hold of her arms, looking down into her face. "Then what, Lily? What is it that we should do?"

A howling stretch of wind rattles in the windows, and Lily keeps her silence. She wants to move on. She wants her and James and Harry to be fine, to move elsewhere, under better protection, maybe, or under aliases, or move out of country. She wants to go back in time and relive some of their more beautiful days, fix some of their careless mistakes and fights. She wants to skip ahead and see what's waiting for them. She is a wife and a mother and a fighter and she is twenty one and scared and doesn't know what to do.

And then the wind cuts off, and there is silence, and the color in James's face sinks. "No…"

No. No. Not now.

**L/J: 12, Heartache (Zay)**

The day Harry is born, he breaks Lily's heart and makes it whole.

The doctor hands her the baby, her baby, hers and James's, the one she has nurtured in her belly for nine months - and she is overcome. She is choked with tears. Harry is more purple than red, barely the size of a large loaf of bread, and he's screaming with all the force his little lungs can muster - and Lily herself is physically, emotionally, spiritually, chemically a mess - yet as he takes his first feed, settling into her breast with his toothless gums, and she just cries and cries along with him.

There are no words, only wild, unspeakable joy. Nothing feels quite real to her, except for her tiny son, beginning his life. And her heart aches for him, yet it's an all-encompassing ache that is warm and sharp and exquisite and painful.

She aches because she loves him so much already, more than either of them could fathom; because he is a miracle and she is overwhelmed by the life of him, his little hands and feet fighting the air, his lungs and heart settling into the rhythm they will hold, hopefully, for many, many long years to come; because this is a mad time to be raising a child, absolutely mad, with the war and the hiding and the danger. She doesn't know what she's done, bringing this innocent life into such a chaotic world, yet he is so beautiful, and for the first time in her short life, she feels true purpose, a fierce dedication to this role and this person in her arms, who depends on her like no one has ever depended on her before.

James lingers at the periphery, overcome himself - with wondrous awe, with unutterable joy. He sees his wife with his son, and he is so fiercely proud of them both, the woman who just endured childbirth, the one he loves more than anyone on this planet, and now their baby, who has half of his DNA inside every single cell in his body, who is going to grow up and have his own feelings and hopes and dreams and fears. He must be the most perfect baby ever born, he simply must be. His heart swells.

Lily gesticulates wildly to bring him in, and when James holds Harry in his quivering arms, that's it, James is a goner too. Harry owns both of his parents from the first moment of his existence, from the first screeching wail he released into the hospital room.

James's heart aches too, holding this tiny person, who is trying to blink in the fluorescent light, breathe in air that isn't from his mother's womb. This is him, their first child - with any luck not their only one - and it's too much, just too much, to imagine that they are a family unit now. Mommy and Daddy and Baby.

Harry orients himself to this strange new place, and James does too, because he's a father now. A father responsible for raising his son - who has his face and his uncontrollable hair, and his wife's gorgeous eyes. He is so proud, so excited. He kisses Harry's warm little head, and returns him to Lily's waiting arms.

Neither of them can get enough of looking at him. Whenever Harry isn't feeding or being whisked away by a nurse, James and Lily let him lie between them on the bed, wrapped up in his blanket like a baby burrito, and they just marvel at him. Lily coos and kisses his stomach and tickles his feet; James puts his finger in Harry's fist, enjoying his fragile reflexive grip, and tells him all about the Quidditch he's going to learn, effective immediately. Lily is too busy giving Harry kisses everywhere to roll her eyes at her Quidditch-obsessed husband.

Late that night, as Harry sleeps, dreams on, James lies beside Lily in the bed, holding her hand, staring at the ceiling, giddy with joy over their baby.

"I want at least three more," he tells her. "Like, two or three years apart, maybe four. Hey! If we have seven, we could have our own Quidditch team! Team Potter!"

"Okay," snorts Lily, "then next time, _you_ can be the human incubator, and _you_ can get progressively fatter for nine months, and _you_ can go through childbirth, and _you_ can do the whole thing all again as many times as you like."

He kisses her cheek. "I'm going to just _love_ these pregnancy hormones."

She glowers at him, but he's too busy gazing fondly at Harry to notice.


	5. Chocolate, Hush, Wonderland

_A/N: These are getting progressively longer. Thanks to everybody who's read (and __reviewed) so far; you are all fantastic! ALSO: WE ARE DOING A LILY/JAMES SECRET SANTA! If you are at all interested, find us over at jilysecretsanta . tumblr . com! We hope to see you there! :)_

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**L/J: 13, Chocolate (Mina)**

James doesn't notice that something's off until he's eaten breakfast, gone through his first class, and stepped into the corridor. At first, it's a nagging itch at the side of his brain—what is missing?

He's not missing his trousers, his shoes match today, he's got his wand and his bag and his glasses; he did his essay for Arithmancy; he's brushed his teeth this morning, tried to straighten his hair. _What is it?_ he thinks, stopping in the middle of the hall. A third year bumps into him but James doesn't mind; he stands there, looking around, like whatever is driving him mad will appear from the air and resolve this. Maybe if he doesn't move, it'll come to him quicker.

And then he sees a tall girl with long blonde hair and a shorter girl with a mess of brown hair and it's the best feeling of realization, seeing them—_oh._ And then he's almost ashamed of himself because how could he forget?

"Dorcas!" he calls, raising his hand to wave at them above the crowd. "Siobhan! Where's Lily?"

Siobhan laughs, calls back, "She's got a case of Bloody Fanny! Check the common room!"

_Well, this will be dangerous_. He waves a thanks at them and heads in the opposite direction. If he hurries, he's got just enough time before his next class to swing by the Kitchens and the Hospital Wing.

It's like stalking a hungry, tired, angry lioness. He creeps into the common room to find her in an armchair in the corner, buried in blankets and reading a book. Her hair is rumpled and her too-large sweater is falling off her shoulder and she is beautiful and dangerous all at once. James approaches her slowly, careful not to startle her.

She looks up, sees him, and returns to her book. "Go away."

"No can do."

"I'm on the rag."

"I know."

"I hate you."

"I know that, too." He dares closer, kneels in front of her, and puts his hand on her knee, even though she is most likely about to kick him in the face, even though the last time he touched her was two months ago and she pushed him away.

(Not like he has been counting. He hasn't.)

But she doesn't kick him or smack him or move at all, really, except to narrow her eyes the slightest bit. She's giving him a chance.

"I brought you some things," he says. He reaches over to pull his bag onto his lap, takes out a square tin and hands it to her. After putting her book on the table, she opens the tin, stares; he can smell the still-warm squares of chocolate fudge, hopes the way she leans in to breathe them in means that she likes them.

He also passes over a thermos full of hot soup—his Plan B—and a small glass bottle of a purple potion that Madame Pomfrey swore by.

Lily takes it all without comment, without reacting to anything, really, and when he closes his bag and looks up to see her getting teary-eyed, he panics. It's not what he expected. It's not what he expected, at all, and now he's made her _cry_—what was he _thinking_—

She must see it on his face. "No, I'm sorry, it's just…" She waves a hand at him, motioning to the collection she has on her lap. "I'm just—"

"No need to say anything, Evans." He stands, rubs his hands together, rumples his hair, adjusts his bag strap—tries to do anything but look at her, which fails. Her eyelashes clump together, small damp points that lie against her freckles when she blinks, and that one small thing gives him the stupid bravery to lean in to her and press a kiss to her forehead. To her credit, she doesn't pull away, or injure him, only looks up at him with those wide green eyes.

"I'll be heading off now," he says, straightening, taking a few steps back. "Feel better, Evans?"

He does not imagine her leaning forward in her blanket nest, doesn't imagine her glance down at the tin of chocolates and bite her lip. Eventually she says, "Wait, Potter. Can you just sit with me? For a while?"

And James smiles. "Yeah. Sure. Want to move to the sofa?"

She nods. He drops his bag under the table and helps her migrate her blanket nest and things to one of the larger sofas near the window. Together they sit in a nice silence, eating fudge, and James does not imagine—he pinches himself on the leg, discreetly, twice, just to make sure—her leaning her head on his shoulder and whispering, "Thanks."

**L/J: 14, Hush (Zay)**

"Honestly, Lily, I didn't mean anything by it—"

"LIAR!" Lily roars, picking up the closest object in her reach, a couple of pillows from the common room sofa, and chucking them at James as hard as she can. "You're a LIAR, James Potter! You _did_ mean something by it!"

He dodges the pillows easily, tries to get closer to her. "Lily, can I please just explain?"

"Explain what?" she shouted. "Explain why you told Mary Macdonald that you were excited to have 'caught' me? Like I was a bird and you were a hunter and this whole "fancying me" thing really was some sort of sick game you invented one fine day to screw with my head?"

"Lily, it was stupid phrasing, can we please just—"

"The stupid phrasing I could have forgiven, James, but then you went and told Sirius, _while I was in earshot_, that 'the broad did protest too much'?"

"I didn't know you were listening."

"That just makes it worse!" She grabs another pillow, hurls it at his head. "Honestly, how was that supposed to make me feel?"

"I made a mistake, Lily." He picks up the pillows, throws them across the room so she doesn't have access to more ammunition. "Can I explain?"

"No!"

Now she's crying, crying hard, her hair a wild lioness's mane, sticking in places to her tear-stained face, her cheeks red and blotchy. She paces, still crying, and James risks coming towards her, gently gathering her up and hugging her close.

"Hush, Lils, it's okay," he says. "Don't cry. Shhhh."

But suddenly, she bursts out from his hug, pushing him away from her. She's in a towering rage, even angrier than before, her eyes dangerous.

"Don't you dare tell me to 'hush' James Potter," she snarls. "I mean, this is exactly what I'm talking about!"

"What are you talking about?!"

She wipes her face as more tears rush down to replace them. She tries to calm down a little, but her breathing is still hard and heavy and her eyes are shiny, raw.

"Look, it was a risk, deciding to date you," she says, all shaky and honest. "I mean, I thought you'd changed, I thought I'd changed, I thought we could make something work. You…you did, you won me over, all right? I thought we had something good. And then I hear you being so nonchalant, like you don't care, like this was a game and I was the prize. And now, when I'm trying to show you how I feel, you tell me to hush, you tell me to stop crying, like you can't be bothered to know what's really going through my head."

Relieved that she's using words rather than tears, he takes her hand and sits her down on the couch with him.

"What you heard me say to Sirius, that was a mistake," he says. "I mean, here I am, in this amazing new relationship, the one I'd always wanted but never thought I could have, and it turns out better than I could have imagined. Sirius…is not the type to understand such a relationship. He's my best mate and all, but especially in a public place, I couldn't exactly tell him that I thought you were…well, my soulmate. He wouldn't get it."

He takes a deep breath, runs his hand through his hair. "As for Mary, you heard me out of context. I was telling her that you were just the most amazing catch, and I was so lucky, because I couldn't believe, still, that you really did want to go out with me. It was poorly phrased, and I'm sorry."

She sighs, gently strokes his cheek, her eyes smoldering with affection. "That's really sweet and all…but you do realize it's all bullshit, don't you?"

He looks gobsmacked, so she smiles a watery smile, wipes away the last of the tears and says, "Look, I don't want to be the girl that you hide, or that is too good for you. If you think I'm your soulmate, then don't be embarrassed, tell your friends. Tell them that this is real for you - because it's real for me too, and I don't want that to be a secret. And…I'm flattered and everything, but I'm not all that amazing. I'm as flawed as anyone else. You're lucky to have me, maybe, but you forget that I'm lucky to have you, and you _should_ be able to believe that we're dating, because we've grown up and we like each other and this is working.

"I just want you to be able to know the real me, the one who adores you but also screams and cries and misunderstands things," she says. "I don't want to be this perfect creature you keep in the closet because you're afraid no one will get it. I want you to listen to me instead of assuming you know what's best for me."

"I'm sorry," is all he can say, as genuinely as he's ever said anything, holding her gaze so that she knows he's for real. "It's just…this is still new to me. I don't know how it's going to go."

"Neither do I. So let's find out. But as equals, okay?"

He kisses her then, tasting the salt from her tears on her lips, and he holds her close, drinking her in. This thing they have is so new, so good, that he's almost afraid of it, because he doesn't want to screw it up. He's spent so long thinking that he knows her, and now he finds that he doesn't - and she's both less and more than who he thought she was.

But he likes it better that way, he figures, as she breaks the kiss and runs upstairs to get her homework. He likes that she's still full of secrets and dark corners and mystery. He likes that there's more to know. He wants to know her, bit by bit. He wants this to last.

So he breaks the kiss and smiles his radiant smile. "Deal," he says.

**L/J: 15, Wonderland (Mina)**

James's father dies. It's three o'clock on a Tuesday and James doesn't know how to process anything, so he skips out on the meeting he's supposed to be having with his mother and Dumbledore, goes outside, and sits against the tree in front of the lake. The cold October air raises goosebumps on his arms. His shirt is too thin and he's getting nipply and people try to talk to him but he doesn't know what to say—what is there to say? That it was too sudden, too unexpected? That he feels like his chest is caving in? That his father was the kind of man James wanted to grow up to be, and that he doesn't know what to do now that he's alone?

They find him after a while; he hears them before they see him, he figures. He expected Dumbledore and his mother, not his best friend and his unrequited-lady-love, and he flinches away automatically. They can't see him like this. He pulls at his glasses and swipes at his eyes and listens to their familiar bickering to anchor him.

"I'm telling you, Lily. He's going to want to be left alone."

"Sod off."

"You wait. Known the bloke for six years and yet you doubt."

"…James?"

He turns, attempts a smile. His first name. Lily smiles back at him, and Sirius pushes past her with a roll of his eyes to sit on the ground next to James.

"You want us to leave?" Sirius asks.

"No," James says, patting the space on his other side for Lily to sit as well. She sits closer to him than he'd expected, and it's nice, the warmth of them, in a way that doesn't make him want to sink to the bottom of the lake and cry all day. He motions to the book in Lily's hand, ragged and dog-eared and worn. "What's that?"

Lily blushes, runs her fingers over the faded lettering on the cover: _Alice in Wonderland._ "After my dad died," she says, looking up at him, biting her lip. He nods at her to continue. "I used to read his old books all the time, like if I kept reading them I'd find the same things in them that he did, that I'd keep finding pieces of him, you know? I didn't, really. But this is the one book he'd read to me all the time, so I thought—it's probably stupid—"

"No, hey." James shimmies lower against the tree, gets comfortable in the warm, safe middle between Lily and Sirius. Sirius unwraps his scarf and tosses it in James's lap, a tangle of red and gold, and James keeps it there for something to do with his hands, tangling it over and over until the tightness in his throat fades. He nudges Lily with his elbow. "Read some?"

Head down, pink-cheeked, she turns to the first page and starts reading. He's heard the story before. Alice drops into Wonderland, talks with the flowers, trips on some drugs; instead of following Alice, he listens to her words, feels the low rhythm of her speech against her arm pressed against his. Even Sirius stills, caught, and he's never been more thankful for the two of them, how they seem to always know what he needs.


End file.
